1: A very dangerous mistake

“He left you nothing, Valerie,” my aunt said. “You weren’t even mentioned in the will.”

The rain was pouring down, soaking my new apron and uniform, my blonde hair hanging heavy against my cheeks. But I didn’t care. I barely noticed. I stood motionless, letting the rain claim me. My phone was pressed to my ear, listening to my aunt’s voice carve away the last thread I had to my family.

"You don’t have to come to the funeral," my aunt’s voice had said, flat and emotionless. "I think it will be… better this way."

My hands clenched into fists, trembling with all the unsaid pain. The anger. Sadness. The fear.

Better this way. The words rang in my ears as my throat closed up.

My father was dead. And I wasn’t even worth a chair at the family table, not even in death.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. Not without my voice cracking, revealing my hurt.

My relationship with my father was …strained. And it had been ever since my mother left us when I was only six years old. But to deliberately cut me out of the will. After all I had done for him. I felt betrayed.

A slap on the face. His last gift to me. Thanks dad.

The line had been quiet for a moment, but then she pulled me back, adding, almost as an afterthought, "I’m sorry."

But she wasn’t.

And we both knew it.

Click. The line went dead. I stood frozen, feeling nothing but the storm raging inside me. My aunt’s voice was running through my mind, the weight of her words pressing me down until I could barely breathe. Not welcome. Not even to say goodbye.

I could taste salt, though I wasn’t sure if it was rainwater or tears.

“Valerie!” Ana’s voice cut through the storm. The café door swung open, warmth and the smell of coffee rushing out. My new co-worker stood there, eyes wide. “Are you crazy? You’ll catch a cold out here!”

Before I could argue, she grabbed my arm and tugged me inside. The bell chimed eagerly overhead as the door shut, sealing the storm inside. The café lights suddenly felt too bright, the chatter too loud.

What a way to start my first day at the café – a cozy place downtown run by a sweet Spanish family.

“You’re drenched,” Ana scolded, almost sounding like a sister fussing. “We don’t need our new girl dying on her first watch.” She shoved a towel into my hands.

“Thanks,” I managed, rubbing at my dripping hair.

“That’s better.” A new voice – low, teasing.

I turned toward the sound. Behind the counter, Dominique, the barista, leaned casually on the espresso machine. Dark curls framed his boyish grin, and his apron was smudged with coffee grounds.

“Though I gotta say, soaked looks good on you, Valerie - very… dramatic.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “It’s not exactly the look I was going for.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he winked, sliding a cappuccino across the counter to a waiting customer.

“Careful – your smile will make half the men in here fall in love with you,” he added with a sly smile.

Ana rolled her eyes, exhaled annoyed, smacking him with a clean rag. “Stop flirting, Dom. She just started, and she is working.”

I tried to laugh, but my throat still felt tight.

Ana turned to me with warm apologetic eyes. “Don’t mind Dom – he’s my idiotic cousin. He always flirts with the new girls.” Dom gasped dramatically from behind the counter, his insulted Spanish retort drowning in the hiss from the espresso machine.

That drew a small laugh from my otherwise tight throat. “Ouch! And here I thought I was special.”

“Yeah… Dom sure has a way with the ladies.” Ana smirked.

“No, wait, Val,” Dom’s voice sounded hurt, desperate, though I caught the faint grin giving away he was joking. Teasing us. “You are special – to me!”

Yet again, Ana rolled eyes of her cousin, grabbed my wrist, and tugged me away from this painfully cringing moment. Dom stretched his hand toward me, playing heart-broken, “No, baby – come back.”

Ana laughed, and I joined her. My mood was improving. Slowly.

“Ah, the new girl,” another voice sounded, warmer and sincerer this time. Javier, the owner, stepped out from the kitchen with flour on his apron. The mouthwatering smell of cinnamon rolls followed him. He was an older man, slightly silver-haired, warm and kind eyes. He rubbed his hands together twice, dusting off the remaining flour.

Then he looked at my uniform with a frowned look. “¡Dios mío!” he exclaimed in Spanish. “My dear girl, you’re soaked!” He turned to Ana, “Hija, get the poor girl a dry uniform.”

Ana nodded once in compliance. “Sì, papá.”

But before Ana could retreat a new uniform, the bell over the door chimed again. And the air shifted. My gaze flickered to the door instantly. Everybody’s did.

He stepped in like he owned the place – tall, broad-shouldered, his suit pressed even in the rain. Dark hair slicked back, hazel eyes sharp, dangerous – and undeniably handsome. His presence silenced the entire café. Ana whispered, both prayer and warning, “Santiago Morales.”

Javier straightened instantly, his eyes lighting up as he had just seen an old friend – or perhaps a benefactor.

“Señor Morales,” he greeted the man with a respectful nod, his tone holding a certain reverence that was hard to miss. Mr. Morales simply returned the greeting with a small smile, as if he was used to this kind of reception. Then he turned his attention to me, our eyes meeting for one charged, terrifying heartbeat. There was something unreadable in his gaze – something molten, assessing, unsettling. It made my breath catch.

Javier suddenly grabbed my arm, pulling me out of his spell. “Valerie,” he said quickly, his voice tight. “Take these dishes to the kitchen, now.”

“Wh–?”

“Go.” His voice was urgent. He shoved a tray into my hands before I could argue. I took it, trembling, Javier gently but firmly pushed me toward the kitchen and away from the counter. But my foot got caught in the rug in front of me. My heart stuttered as I realized what was about to happen. But it was too late. The tray tilted in my hands. Oh no.

Cups shattered. Coffee splattered. Brown liquid ran down the front of his black suit jacket.

The café went quiet. Too quiet. Like silence before the storm.

And when his eyes finally, slowly, lifted from the coffee staining his expensive jacket to meet mine – I knew I’d just made a very dangerous mistake.